


Her Choice

by LotusGirl



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Asexual, Bi, Bisexual, F/M, Fluff, Future, Love, Romance, ace - Freeform, ciNNAMON BUNS, nathanette, sprinkles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusGirl/pseuds/LotusGirl
Summary: “Are you upset that we don’t do the same things your ex’s did? The fact that I’m not tall or romantic or. . . The fact that I don’t want to have sex. . ."





	Her Choice

_ Squeak, squeak, squeak. _

 

The wheels on his chair screamed as he changed his position every 50 seconds. 

 

Nathaniel anxiously bit his bleeding red hair and his eyes kept darting back to the clock.

 

The doctor told him not to bite his lip anymore or heaven forbid he broke the skin again.

 

It was a nervous habit. He simply had to bite something, and his pens certainly weren’t going to suffer for it. 

 

Nathaniel hated it. He hated that he felt this way everyday, waiting for her to come home. He shouldn’t feel this way, his heart shouldn’t be palpitating, his stomach shouldn’t be turning, he shouldn’t be biting. If anything, he should feel excited, waiting patiently like a loyal dog waiting for its owner to come home and praying the hands on the clock turn faster. That’s what all the other couples did, whether in real life or on those stupid romance movies she made fun of, but secretly loved. Nathaniel thought she just did that because she knew he wasn’t as fond of them as she was. He stared at the drawing tablet. He couldn’t get any work done in the last half hour and the final drawing had only the text bubbles. He wished he could talk to her about this, he wished he could attack this feeling head on. But he was too scared and shy to, and he feared bringing up anything she would hate talking about.

 

Of course, he wouldn’t know because they never talked about it.

 

_ Tick tock tick tock. _

 

The redhead took another glance at the clock.  _ She’ll be home soon _ . Nathaniel stood up and walked to the front door and waited. It was hard not to feel awkward and grip his arm and stare at the door until it opened. His shoulders became tense with the sound of footsteps becoming louder. A crescendo of footsteps. “I’m home,” a sweet voice called as the door opened. “Welcome back, Marinette,” he replied. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek as she took off her coat. “How was work?” “Everyone’s really going nuts for the winter collection unveiling. My assistants ask me a different question every five minutes, I swear I can’t get anything done,” she sighed.  _ It’s definitely not the best time to ask her now _ , he thought. “Did you get the cinnamon bun recipe,” she asked. Nathaniel was a bit taken off guard at her question but replied, “Oh, yeah I did. It’s in the kitchen.”

 

It was definitely not the best time to ask her, to him it wasn’t.

 

\-----

 

He always wondered why she would pick him over everyone else.

 

Nathaniel certainly wasn’t her first choice. She danced in the dark with so many before him. Adrien, Luka, Nino, Kagami, Alya, even Chloe that one time. All of them seemed so much more impressive than he, and all of which still held closer ties to her. Some were ten times more likely to pull her onto the dance floor and sweep her off her feet like the smooth dirt bags they are. Some were ten times more likely to strip to their skin at the drop of their hat. Some could produce the most flirtatious, heart capturing lines in the book. They had so much more to offer to her. All he had was a pen and paper. He had a lame tongue and no lust. He wasn’t exactly a tall pretty boy in the magazines girls loved, and he definitely wasn’t the hottest girl in the room. Why did she choose him? Didn’t she ever feel bad that he didn’t want to do those things with her? Didn’t she ever pity him for this mindset? These thoughts haunted him. He never knew what she was thinking. They kept him up at night. It drove him crazy.

 

He loved her so much, but he couldn’t see anything past her words.

 

On nights they slept on the opposite sides of the bed, did she want to get closer? 

 

On days they went out together, did she want to hold his hand.

 

Before bed, did she ever want to read romance and erotics instead of hero stories and Edgar Allan Poe with him?

 

She always said she was okay with it, but was she really?

 

When he asked her what she wanted to do, she never brought up the things she did with those other people.

_ Oh Moonlight, what goes on in your head? _

 

_ Do you crave the world I can’t give you? _

 

_ Do you want to further explore the bed? _

 

_ Our relationship, everything we’ve done, do you want them to undo? _

 

Nathaniel would think back to some of the stories Marc wrote that Marinette really liked. In some, one of the character’s was just shy and the other would persuade them into the darkness. She thought it was cute, he was rather indifferent about it. He knew he was different from those stories. He didn’t feel those animalistic urges, he didn’t yearn for that kind of connection, and Marinette knew. She always did. Even when he didn’t tell her. Nathaniel was always so off-put by how well she could see through him. It was a one-way pane of glass. Marinette saw everything, but Nathaniel couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. It withered his violet heart to not know if his partner was in distress or not. 

 

_ Please tell me the truth _ . 

 

When she spent long hours at work, was she trying to avoid him? 

 

Often times, his internal war would find its way creeping on the screen. His comic pages would be stained with sorrow and anxiety, shades dripping in cold and depressed colors. The characters’ expressions would droop like  _ The Scream _ , becoming wet and dripping with his frustration. His heart would deal out new conflicts like a dealer, each card reading a completely different reason to be upset and cause them to hurt. The series used to be much nicer, brighter colors and happier faces, but now, it’s an icky gray. His readers would comment and ask if he was okay, others would show only concern for the characters and their well-being. He never replied. The last thing he needed was for his fanbase to blow up about this. Only on rare occasions would he not draw the pages at all, worried sick for his closeness with Marinette. How tragic, how pitiful. To be so deterred from something that could be so simple and easily solved. But that was the life for people like him. To keep drinking the poison and never letting it out, even when your body is dying and your throat has burned out. 

 

Marinette used to be like that.

 

She didn’t use to have friends to cry to, so she would write pages and pages in her diary about how her poison crippled her to no end.

 

But now, she tells them everything from her job to her life obstacles.

 

_ Like him _ .

 

Why couldn’t she tell him everything?

 

He wished he knew.

 

\-----

 

“Can you get the water and yeast out?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Nathaniel turned the faucet as Marinette got the flour and sugar. It wasn’t the first time they made cinnamon buns. It was their favorite thing to make together, especially since when they first started dating, it was the only thing both of them knew how to bake. So many times, they would joke about cannibalism and likewise when munching down on the sweet treats.  _ “Oh my gosh Nathaniel, you never told me you were a cannibal,” Marinette exclaimed in faux-horror. “Surely you knew how much I loved eating what your parents made,” he replied, giggling.  _ He looked over at her as she measured out the ingredients. She was probably doing this thinking it was going to just, if not more, fun than all the other times they made these cinnamon buns. Nathaniel spooned the yeast into the water, diverting his attention back to the concoction or he might screw up the whole recipe. “Hey, do you want to do the sprinkles on top this time? I know they’re optional but I really want sprinkles right now,” she asked. “Of course, sprinkles are amazing.”  _ Just like you. _

 

They took turns mixing and adding the ingredients, every turn, their hands brushing against each other.

 

Neither of them thought twice about it.

 

He remembered how nervous she was when she first made cookies with Adrien. She would blush every time their hands touched and stammered her words when he asked about the instructions.

 

Now, was she comfortable or did she really not think that of him?

 

It was eating him up inside.

 

He had to ask her.

 

(◕◡◕✿)(◕◡◕✿)(◕◡◕✿)(◕◡◕✿)

 

The oven beeped.

 

They had just finished rolling their cinnamon buns and were ready to bake.

 

He took their tray and slipped it in the oven.

 

It was now or never.

 

“Um, Mari?” She turned to ask, “What is it, Nath?” Marinette always made eye contact with him, a practice that took him years to learn. He took a deep breath and asked, “Do you. . . Are you. . . Do you feel  _ bad _ about us?” She blinked and looked a bit stunned and confused. “What are you talking about? Why would I ever feel bad about us?” Nathaniel couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. He continued. “Are you upset that we don’t do the same things your ex’s did? The fact that I’m not tall or romantic or. . . The fact that I don’t want to have sex. Don’t you ever feel  _ regretful _ I’m not like those other people? Why?  _ Why _ would you pick me over them? I’m, I’m nothing compared to them,” his voice quivered. 

 

“Nathaniel. . .”

 

“Please, Mari, just. . . tell me the truth.”

 

Marinette rested her hand on his shoulder. She could see his fragile crystalline soul in his eyes. She could see the cracks in his spirit. Both hands held his face so he couldn’t look away from her kind smile. “Nathaniel, I love you because you’re different. I love that you wouldn’t want to manipulate me, I love that you don’t sugarcoat your words. You love me for my soul, and that’s my favorite thing about you.” Marinette spoke softly and he gripped her arm as he felt a light burning sensation in his eyes. “Do you mean that? You’re okay with this?” “Sweetheart, I stay with you for life. I swear I’m never leaving you. We don’t need what they had.” Nathaniel, in a swift movement, he squeezed her tight and whispered, “Thank you.” It felt like years they had spent hugging each other close, wanting to keep that warmth and comfort for eternity. He felt every drop of poison was drained from his heart and he was clean. “Now then, what do you say we make some icing for our yummy cinnamon buns,” she asked. “I would love to.” 

 

They always loved making cinnamon buns together, but it was even better today.

 

Both of them, they felt so warm and fuzzy inside as they mixed the butter and powdered sugar together. 

 

The oven  _ dinged _ .

 

“Our children are done,” he snickered.

 

“What an irresponsible father to bake his kids at 360* Fahrenheit!”

 

Marinette pulled on the oven mitts as she pulled the cinnamon buns out onto the countertop. The sweet scent flooded their nostrils and the whole kitchen. She stirred the icing as he collected the sprinkles of every color. Maybe they got a little  _ too _ excited about the sprinkles, as they had a canister of sprinkles for every cinnamon bun as a number comparison. “Crazy idea: I think we have too many sprinkles,” Nathaniel said. “What, you think we should just pick the colors we like instead of covering them in a layer of rainbows?” “Yes, we can just have a layer of pink and violet,” he laughed. In an agreement, they traded some canisters and divided the cinnamon buns to have an equal amount of canvas to work with. His half was covered in blacks, greys, whites and violets. Her canvas didn’t have as much variety, covered in blues, pinks, and more violet. 

 

“Okay, taste test,” she exclaimed as they picked up each other’s cinnamon buns.

 

“On count of three, we bite.”

 

“On or after?”

 

“On three.”

 

He didn’t feel the need to argue her logic, since she wouldn’t be able to say three when her mouth was full of pastry.

 

“One. . .”

 

“Two. . .”

 

“Three!”

 

They proceeded to bite into the sweet treat in satisfaction. Nathaniel let his head fall on her shoulder. She told him, “I would call this recipe a success, wouldn’t you?” “Oh yeah, definitely.” He nuzzled against her neck and said,” Wait I wanna try yours too.” Nathaniel reached and took a munch of her cinnamon bun and she said, “Even though all sprinkles taste the same.” “It’s the person who made it that makes the difference.” Their hands crept between them and held each other.

 

“Maybe it does,” she says, taking a bite of his.

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up with the desire to write Nathanette, so that's what I did.


End file.
